


Picturesque

by onceuponachildhood



Series: (Currently unnamed ut human au) [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Family Issues, Gen, Minor Spoilers, Nonbinary Character, unlikely friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponachildhood/pseuds/onceuponachildhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not new to you that your favorite person in the world looks almost exactly like your least favorite person in the world, but you don’t really want the reminder. | Alternatively, Sans deals with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picturesque

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the human au that belongs to [toddnet](http://toddnet.tumblr.com/) and [this ask](http://prince-everhard.tumblr.com/post/132057780376/papyrus-looks-somuch-like-his-father-im-hurting). In this version of the au, Monster!Frisk is nonverbal and also an artist.  
> god i love suffering

* * *

 

The kid’s bent over their sketchbook like usual, tongue stuck out a little in concentration. Sans scratches Sacha behind the ears when she walks by and then heads to sit next to Frisk. They don’t look up but give him a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Hey, kiddo.” Sans leans his head back against the couch and tips his face toward Frisk. They’re not looking at anything specifically, but they could be drawing anything or anyone in the house. The kid especially has a good memory for portraits; Sans remembers the first time Frisk drew him and smiles a little to himself. Papyrus still has that sketch hung on his wall. Frisk shifts so that their arm isn’t covering the drawing as much anymore, and when Sans gets a good look at it his breath leaves him like he’s been punched in the gut.

The busts are technically gorgeous- even half-assed doodles from Frisk are a work of art. These clearly have more love put in them than that. There are two of the busts side-by-side. One is of Papyrus, his eyes shining and smile soft, like it gets when he catches Frisk sleeping on the couch or when he looks at Mettaton when he thinks nobody else is looking at himself. The lighting is soft too, a little hazy and dreamlike. The other bust is of their dad. Gaster, too, is smiling softly; it’s the kind of smile Sans hasn’t seen on his dad’s face in a long time. He wonders when Frisk saw it, or if Frisk even did. It could have just as easily been a photograph they saw.

But no, there’s a difference in the  _life_  one of Frisk’s sketches has if they’ve seen the subject for themselves or if it’s through a lens. Gaster looks very decidedly alive, and present, and his expression is so tender it makes Sans’s breathing a little ragged. He hasn’t seen his dad look that… contented since his high school years. But it’s clearly depicted by Frisk’s hand just how similar those smiles look. Papyrus even has their dad’s high cheekbones. They nearly look like the same person, just at different points in their life.

Sans doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Frisk puts the pencil down and turns to look at him directly. They hold the sketchbook loosely in their lap and draw their foot up onto the sofa. Frisk looks from their finished sketches to Sans’s clenched fists on his thighs. He hadn’t noticed that, either. Frisk reaches forward and taps the backs of Sans’s fists, but otherwise gives him his space. Such a good kid. “Sorry, kiddo.” He uncurls his fingers but doesn’t do much else.

Frisk gets a look of determination on their face before letting out a little musical whistle. Sans recognizes the whistle; it’s the same one he makes to call the dogs. Rocco and Sacha come running, hopping up onto the couch and settling on either side of him. He blinks, looking from where Rocco’s head is settled comfortably on his arm to where Frisk is giving him a sort of patient smile. He snorts. “You  _dog_ gone rascal, you copied my whistle.” Frisk giggles at the pun. The dogs’ weight is comforting against his sides.

He breathes in and out for a moment before he looks at Frisk again. They’ve closed their sketchbook, hiding it a little in their arms. Such a good kid. A little too damn observant sometimes, but  _good_. No wonder they get along so well with Paps. Frisk fidgets a little. Sans can probably guess why. Frisk’s eyebrows are raised in question but at the same time, Sans knows they wouldn’t want to upset anyone with questions. Especially not himself.

He reaches out and carefully tugs the sketchbook away from them. It’s easy to flip open to the newest drawing. It still feels a little like a gut punch to look at, but Sans doesn’t tense up again. It helps that Sacha makes a little rumbly noise next to his ear when she rests her chin on his shoulder. “They look a lot alike, don’t they, buddy?”

Frisk knows his relationship with his dad is as awful as his relationship with Paps is good. Frisk isn’t terribly fond of Gaster either, which Sans holds close in the hurt corner of his heart. Seeing Gaster and Papyrus side-by-side, looking almost identical, almost feels like a betrayal. It’s stupid and Sans feels a little sick that he feels that way, but he does. The realization hits Frisk’s expression clearly. They look from the busts to Sans almost… sadly for a second, and then they bounce up and down excitedly. They make gimmie motions with their paws until Sans hands the sketchbook back.

“You have an idea there, kid?” Sans tries for a grin. “Is it something _sketchy_?”

Frisk doesn’t even dignify that with an answer- though Sans does catch the end of their eye-roll- and instead starts turning back through the pages toward the beginning of the sketchbook. When they find the page they want they practically thrust the book back into Sans’s hands. They’re usually super careful with the sketchbooks, so they must really want him to see something.

This time when Sans looks down at the page, his breath catches for an entirely different reason. The page has two sketches again. One more distant, a full-body drawing of him holding Papyrus down to his level in a companionable headlock. There’s the suggestion of a background that looks like Toriel’s living room. The second sketch is a close-up of their faces, cheeks crushed together from Sans’s grip. They’re both grinning so wide that their eyes are closed. Sans touches the pages with his fingertips; it’s a mark of the seriousness of the moment that Frisk doesn’t immediately protest. The expressions are bursting with life, like they could really step off the page any moment. He traces the lines around their eyes, the identical creases and clear joy in the piece.

His vision blurs for a second and Frisk quickly rescues the sketchbook before Sans can damage it. He blinks until his eyes are clear again. Frisk is very pointedly not looking at him. Sans chuckles and reaches over to ruffle their hair. “It’s a good drawing, kiddo.” Frisk looks at him for a moment before nodding like that’s the most obvious statement in the world.

* * *

 


End file.
